


Like the Distant Thunder

by ClockworkCourier



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond, Religious Fanaticism, Slow Burn, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 23:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15254562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkCourier/pseuds/ClockworkCourier
Summary: Joseph Seed builds his church in Rome, and begins to have visions of a woman who may be signaling the beginning of the end.Across the country, she's having visions of him as well.





	Like the Distant Thunder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CitizenOfGlass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitizenOfGlass/gifts).



> so here was the lovely prompt that kicked off a huge noah's ark level deluge of story planning and idek what else
>
>> Here's my (1) request. It's a long ass one and it's totally okay if you think it's the stupidest idea since that of Trump to leave the UN human rights council. Joseph and fem!Deputy are tied to each other since the beginning and the bunker ending is bound to happen. Both Joe and Dep are having the same premonitions about that ending during the events of the game but they keep them to themselves for their own reasons.
>> 
>> But then, at some point, they start sharing the exact same fantasies about each other too. Every little detail is the same: place, time, position, whatever. One day, they both decide to visit one of those places at the same time, and the fantasy suddenly threatens to become a reality after months of unknowingly shared longing.
> 
> in short, i couldn't keep this to a tumblr ask box fic, i like worldbuilding too much, and i've been reading books about cult leaders lately so i felt rly inspired. mostly i hope that joseph stays in character and the background worldbuilding feels believable. OTL 

The visions come to Joseph intermittently, and always without warning. 

Sometimes they come when he’s still, when he’s actually waiting for them and meditating, seeking answers. Other times, they come when he least expects, like in the middle of a sermon or when he’s working on the side to support their small church. The summer heat of Rome seem to bring them about more often than not, but he can’t always blame the heat for the things he sees.

He works at a funeral home while they pay for the space in the old packing plant in West Rome in installments. John pays for the majority, and reiterates that he has no problem with this being his lot in the foundation. He handles the finances with an expert hand, and knows the property real estate landscape of Georgia better than anyone Joseph has ever met. But Joseph wants this to be a shared effort, wants to see his own hands on the cornerstone when he can. He works a few days a week, writes his book and his sermons at night, preaches on Saturdays and Sundays, and spends every remaining moment of his free time trying to piece the Project together. He doesn’t want to put everything on John, even when his little brother offers all he has.

The first summer that the Project operates out of the packing plant on Richmond Circle, Joseph isn’t sure if it’s the heat or being overworked that brings him a series of strange visions. 

It’s four hours after he finished up his shift at the funeral home, the smells of embalming fluid and floral spray still simmering in his head. He watches John stand under the floodlights in the open section of the packing plant (optimistically, they’ve taken to calling it the Sanctuary, even though it’s only rows of folding chairs at the moment), carefully assessing a measured piece of particle board that a young man named Andy has cut. Joseph doesn’t have an office yet so much as he has a desk from Goodwill and a very distressed office chair shoved in a corner, but John is adamant that Joseph gets his own space. Joseph watches John point at the board, then a line marked in painters tape on the floor.  
  
Suddenly, John’s arm slows down until it freezes, his mouth open on one long syllable, the dust motes in the beam of the floodlights hanging in the air around his head like a halo.

Joseph’s eyes widen and he looks around the room. Everyone and everything is frozen in place, except for the world outside one cracked window facing the overgrown parking lot.

There, he sees a woman. She’s young, maybe college-age, and she’s looking back through the window with an expression of confusion. She cups her hand against the glass and peers through it like she’s trying to get a better view of the room, and when she sees Joseph, she smiles and waves.

Joseph’s too shocked to do much more than slowly wave back.

He’s never seen her in his life, and of all the visions he’s had, she might be one of the more mundane ones. Most of his visions are full of fiery skies, rivers choked with oily waters, trees burned down to charred husks, and corpses all around as if someone had inverted a graveyard. If this is a vision, it’s so normal that it’s strange.

She says something, but Joseph can only see her lips move. He shakes his head, which causes her to shrug helplessly. Then she perks up like an idea’s struck her. She cups her hand on the glass again and presses her mouth against it, blowing on the window until she’s made a patch of vapor. She uses her index finger and quickly writes, forming the word ROOK, with the R turned backwards. She points at it a few times before giving a thumbs-up.

Joseph isn’t sure what it means, or what he’s even supposed to be seeing, but he nods like he understands.

And then she’s gone. John’s back to giving Andy instructions while dust motes dance in the light around him. Joseph reminds himself to write ‘Rook’ in his notebook, and promises never to forget it.

\- - -

 _“Waked by the trumpet sound,_  
_I from my grave shall rise!_  
 _And see the Judge with glory crowned,_  
 _And see the flaming skies!_ ”

Joseph closes his eyes and listens to his congregation sing. He absorbs every sound, every echo and resounding call that clings to the rafters of their sanctuary. And he revels in the feeling of Jacob standing beside him, no matter how unsure and distrusting he is. Joseph knows that large crowds still make him nervous. He’s constantly looking for threats, watching every door and every window.

The song settles into silence, and Joseph takes his place at the pulpit. He hears two chairs creak behind him; Jacob on his left, John on his right. There’s one empty chair, meant for someone who is not among them yet, someone that Joseph has seen in visions. In time, he knows, they’ll come. 

He places his hands on both sides of the pulpit, bracketing the spiralbound notebook with its edges boxed from use. Before him, nearly three hundred faces gaze back at him with varying expressions from awe to delight to confusion to distrust. There are old and new faces, ones that he will see again and again, and ones that he will never see again. Each person comes with questions, all from different corners of society. He knows the ones that have struggled through life, ones who have had a charmed and privileged life but feel a gnawing emptiness within them. He knows most of their names, most of their stories. His flock, his Children. And as he opens his mouth to speak, he sees--

 _A place filled horizon to horizon with lush forest, embroidered with silver creeks, paneled with lakes that shine gold in the setting sun. Mountains cast in cobalt and amethyst, fading to o_ _bsidian and onyx_ _near their bases. He sees the land before the Promised Land._

“My children,” he finally says, holding his hands out to them like he expects to gather all of them into his arms. “The time has come for us to seek out our place, to find the stepping stone of Eden’s Gate.”

Some of them know that the police came to the packing plant only a week ago, without a warrant but with suspicion stark on their faces. They know, and they’ve expected this. Others seem surprised. 

“We seek a land called Hope,” Joseph says, gesturing out towards one of the windows. There, shimmering like frost in the sun, he swears he can still see ROOK written on the glass. “And what was lost will soon be found.”

\- - -

He sees her again not long after Georgia fades like a heat mirage behind them, and Montana rises large and glorious before them. Hope County is exactly what Joseph predicted it would be, and he further predicts that the Project will fit into the landscape as easily as a missing puzzle piece. The locals don’t immediately take to them, but in time, all things come together.

He finds companionship in Jerome Jeffries and his congregation, and finds value in the fact that when Jerome vouches for the Project, some of the locals lower their hackles. 

Joseph doesn’t immediately mention the Voice, or the visions. He’s content for the moment to do Bible study and compare notes. 

One evening, Joseph and Jerome pore over the Book of Jeremiah. Their usual order of routine is that Joseph arrives at Jerome’s tiny church office, one of them makes coffee, one of them brings either doughnuts or muffins, they choose a book and reread it in silence while whittling at their snacks and drinks, and then they spend the next hour or so talking about it. Tonight, it changes up slightly after Jerome starts reading, only to begin laughing.

Joseph looks up in amusement. “What?”

Jerome shakes his head and taps on the rice paper page of his Bible. “I remember back in seminary, I was taught that Jeremiah was called the Weeping Prophet,” he says. “I took a lot to heart from him, you know? Jeremiah’s a great book for a new priest just starting out, and just full of angst enough for one who thinks he’s going to take the world of the church by storm.”

Joseph can’t help but smile. “’Do not say, ‘I am too young.’ You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you,’” he recites, and then nods in agreement. “I took that to heart too, especially when I was sure I would fail.”

“Jeremiah failed and everyone had to know about it.”

Before Joseph can speak, he feels as if the air around him shudders, watches as Jerome’s hand freezes just short of his coffee cup handle. A house fly slows its spin around the flimsy cardboard box of muffins Joseph’s brought, until the fly freezes completely, the fluorescent lights of the office making small iridescent patterns on its wings. Then, he hears the office door open.

He looks up and sees the young woman that he saw at the packing plant. He’s since drawn her as he remembers her in his notebook, smiling above an etched rook chess piece. She looks older now, dressed in an olive drab uniform shirt with a dull metal badge on her chest. This time, she’s not smiling. In fact, she looks more confused than before. She looks down at herself, and then at him, her brows furrowed like she can’t figure him out. 

Then she tries to speak, and it sounds as though her voice is underwater.

Behind her, though, Joseph sees the sky turn a deep, apocalyptic red. Somewhere in the distance, sirens whine high and frantic, and the ground begins to shake. The girl seems to hear and feel this as well, her eyes widening as she turns and looks outside. 

Joseph blinks, and she’s gone. He hears Jerome sip his coffee before setting the cup down.

“Joseph? You okay?”

“I...” He keeps staring at the closed door. Outside, the deep blues and violets of the night play on the shapes of the trees. There’s not a sliver of red among them. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jerome obviously doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t push or pry. All he does is sip his coffee and brush some lemon poppy seed muffin crumbs off the Book of Jeremiah.

For the better, because Joseph now knows that this girl is tied to his visions of the Collapse, and that means that it’s closer than he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://radiojamming.tumblr.com)
> 
> Hymn lyrics are from Idumea (Sacred Harp song), and the title comes from Babylon is Fallen (more Sacred Harp songs!)


End file.
